


Four Little Love Stories

by RileyAnnaOlson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6687694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyAnnaOlson/pseuds/RileyAnnaOlson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. A series of one-shots from various times and places in the Wizarding world.<br/>Chapter 1: Angelina's Owl Order - Fred and George have a serious discussion about the feelings George thinks he's hiding.<br/>Chapter 2: Two Redheads - Molly Prewett finally gets to know that nerdy fellow in Muggle Studies<br/>Chapter 3: Patching Things Up - Percy and Penelope haven't talked in a long, long time.<br/>Chapter 4: Neville Takes Some Initiative - Neville could share a moment with Hannah - if he wasn't terrified of the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angelina's Owl Order

The twins sat on George’s bed in the seventh-year dormitory, filling owl orders for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The curtains around the bed were drawn out of habit. Percy used to sneak around to catch them at things he could write home about. Even though he was gone, they were still used to doing their most important work in secret. Fred packed the ordered items (mostly Skiving Snackboxes and trick wands) and handed them to George, who addressed them. George had better handwriting.

They worked in silence, which was most unlike them. The only sound in the almost-deserted dormitory was the breeze ruffling the pages of Lee’s open Transfiguration book on his bed.

Finally, yawning, Fred stuffed three Fainting Fancies and a Puking Pastille into the last box and glanced at his brother’s work. “What did Angelina order?” he asked, noticing their teammate’s name on a small box on top of the pile. “And why did she owl order it when we see her every day?”

George looked at the box and gave a start. “Oh, that - must have - everybody makes mistakes - wrote it wrong...”

Fred sized up his twin’s vacant expression and came to an important realization. “I know what you mean,” he said casually. “When I’m writing, sometimes I accidentally write what I’m thinking instead of what I mean.” He smiled as he saw George flush, knowing his hunch had been right, but continued as though he had seen nothing. “Once I was trying to finish a History of Magic essay, and I meant to say Elfric the Educated had a private army, but I was thinking about our next match against Slytherin, so I said he had a slimy, cheating little git for a Seeker.” He chuckled. “Didn’t catch that one until Binns handed my paper back, actually.”

“Aw, shut up,” George said, annoyed but too preoccupied to do anything more than halfheartedly complain.

“What?” Fred said, feigning confusion.

“Sorry,” George muttered. “Not feeling myself today.”

Fred gave him another calculating look. “Here is my expert diagnosis. You, brother, are suffering from what is known in the medical field as being madly in love."

George shrugged. “How’d you know.”

“My dear boy, weren’t you paying attention when I was telling an anecdote of my own experiences? In both cases, we wrote what we were thinking about instead of what we meant. I was thinking of Malfoy, so I wrote ‘slimy, cheating little git’ instead of ‘private army’. You were thinking of Angelina, so you wrote her name instead of whoever’s name it was supposed to be.”

“So what if I am?” George slumped against the headboard.

“So what?” Fred said, stretching out on the bed. “So I want to know how you plan to win fair maiden’s heart.”

“I’m not.” George continued, ignoring Fred’s protests. “I don’t have a chance. She...she’s pretty, she’s smart, she’s Quidditch captain. If I wasn’t a Beater she wouldn’t know I existed.”

“But she does; that’s the thing,” Fred said encouragingly. “Come on, give it a shot. She likes you just fine already. All she needs is a little nudge and you two will be the hot couple of seventh year.”

“She likes us just fine, you mean,” George said. “Those Weasley twins with their pranks and their clever trick sweets. She doesn’t like George Weasley, just as he is.” For once, Fred didn’t fire off another witty retort. He gave George a chance to get it all out of his system. “Even if she liked one of us as he is, it’d be you. You’re the funny, outgoing one who comes up with the brilliant ideas and sells them to everybody. You’re the one who gets us out of trouble. I’m just here to back you up,” he finished bitterly.

“Listen here,” Fred said. “Maybe I’m funny and outgoing, but I’m nothing without you. If you didn’t have my back, do you think I could put our plans into action? Not a chance. I talk, but you give me things to say and the guts to say them. Alone, I’d never have got the Marauder’s Map. I’d never have filled those wizard crackers with ignited Dungbombs at Christmas second year. (George gave a half-smile at the memory of Snape’s face when one exploded at the High Table.) I’d never have developed Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It’s because of you all those great things happened. I’m a twin. If I didn’t have you, I’d be lonely little Fred Weasley, who has good ideas but is too scared to do anything with them.”

“And without you, I’d be shy little George Weasley who never talks to anyone and trips over his words when he does. And that’s who I'll be if I ask Angelina out.”

“Don’t make me laugh! Listen, there’s a reason Angelina disappeared halfway through the Yule Ball, and it’s definitely not because she thought you were me. Give it a shot, and if it goes wrong I’ll perform a Memory Charm so she can’t remember it. And if that goes wrong (which it may, since I’ve never done one), and she has no memory, tell her you’re her boyfriend and it’ll work out anyways.”

George laughed. “Alright, I will. But no Memory Charms. I don’t trust you, and I want a Quidditch captain who remembers what a Quaffle is once I’m through.”


	2. Two Redheads

“Prewett! Hey, Prewett! Wait up!” Molly stopped in the middle of the courtyard, arms crossed. A skinny boy with a mop of violently red hair ran across the courtyard carrying a heavy book. He halted before her, gasping for breath. “You left this - in Muggle Studies,” the boy panted, holding out Molly’s  _ Wars of British Muggles _ .

She took her book. “Oh. I did, didn’t I? Thanks...” she trailed away, realizing she couldn’t remember his name. She pushed her ginger curls out of her eyes, but the October wind blew them right back.

“Weasley,” he said, offering his hand. “Arthur Weasley.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” she said, shaking his hand.

“Say,” he began, “I was wondering if sometime - I mean if you - maybe -”

“Molly!” June and Frances stood in the doorway, waving with their cloaks wrapped tight around them against the cold. “Lunch! You coming?”

“I... Sorry, Arthur, gotta run,” Molly said apologetically. “Thanks for returning my book.” She hurried after her friends.

She looked back as she turned into the Great Hall. He was still standing where she’d left him, a star-struck grin on his face. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. Her friends thought he was an oddball, and she had to admit he looked the part. His robes looked at least two sizes too big, and when she saw him in Muggle Studies he was either paying rapt attention or taking such copious and detailed notes they comprised a sheaf of parchment as thick as their textbook. Still, he seemed nice enough, and just because he happened to like Muggles, or even have a minor obsession with them, that didn’t make him so bad.

When she sat at the Gryffindor table she was immediately accosted by her younger brothers Fabian and Gideon. They sat on either side of her and began talking.

“So, sister,” Gideon said, “who’s the redhead?”

“Besides you, of course,” Fabian added, tugging on his sister’s hair.

“His name is Arthur Weasley, and he takes Muggle Studies with me, and he was returning my textbook because I left it in class.” She said this so coldly that Fabian and Gideon exchanged knowing looks.

“Is that all?” Gideon asked, smirking.

“Because he didn’t look like he was returning your book because it was the right thing to do,” Fabian said. “He looked like he wanted a chance to stand in the presence of _ Miss _ Molly Prewett.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but her little brothers didn’t see the warning sign. They leapt to their feet, Fabian adopting a soppy grin and Gideon batting his eyes.

“Oh Molly,” Fabian gushed to Gideon, who looked down his nose imperiously at his older brother, “don’t leave! All I want is to look at you. You’re so gorgeous...”

“Oh Arthur,” Gideon replied in his best imitation of Molly’s most scathing tones, “I’m afraid I don’t love you, because you're a bit of a nerd about Muggles.”

Molly was on her feet, her cheeks flushed. “Shut up,” she said. When they didn’t shut up, but continued snickering, she pulled out her wand.

Fabian and Gideon laughed. “You’re not allowed,” Fabian said smugly. “No duelling, and certainly no hexing innocent second and third years.”

Molly didn’t bother replying, but rapped both of them hard on the head with the handle of her wand. Moaning and complaining at her, they sat again. Now it was her turn to look smug, but she felt a twinge of worry. She hated to have Arthur hear them.

That night in the common room, Molly took a deep breath, arranged herself, and marched over to where Arthur was poring over a diagram of some Muggle contraption.

“I’m sorry about my brothers at lunch,” she said, startling him. “They’re out of hand.”

“It’s all right,” he said ruefully. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s not fair,” Molly said, pulling up a seat beside him. “Henry West is obsessed with Quidditch, but no one would dare tease him about it.”

“I expect that’s because he’s good at hitting things with heavy bats,” Arthur said knowingly, “whereas I’m good at explaining how Muggle things work. They really are fascinating, though,” he said, a light coming into his eyes. “They’ve come up with the most ingenious ways to get around not using magic. Their wireless, for example. It does the same things as the Wizarding wireless, but the principle is entirely different. They use waves of some kind, I don’t understand it all yet, but I  _ think _ ...”

Molly leaned back in her chair, a pleased smile on her face as she listened to Arthur talk. Perhaps Muggles were interesting, but she was more fascinated by him.


	3. Patching Things Up

Percy and Penelope hadn't spoken in a long time. Two years, five months, and some-odd days, if anyone was interested in counting, but Percy wasn't. All he knew was the only person who ever really understood him hated him with a passion.

She came to his flat a few days after he moved to London and demanded in no uncertain terms why he had cut off his family. He'd expected her to be on his side, and her sharp words caught him off-guard. He had been less than tactful as he explained his disagreement with his father and referred to the "stubborn fools" who believed Dumbledore. She reciprocated with an argument for Dumbledore and Harry that would have convinced any jury in the Wizarding world, but her brilliant defense had been lost in the torrent of insults that spouted from both of them immediately afterward. Looking back, Percy knew he deserved every name she called him.

In the intervening years, the two of them saw each other frequently, but never more than saw. Her job at the Daily Prophet took her more and more often to the Ministry as its hold over the newspaper grew tighter. Every time they passed in the corridors or were unlucky enough to get caught in the same lift, she maintained a stony professionalism, but Percy could see flashing in her eyes the same fury he saw as she swept out of his flat.

"So help me, Percy Weasley, I shall never speak to you again, and I hope vice versa!" The door slammed behind her and left him utterly alone.

He'd had a long time to realize she and his parents were right. More right than he was comfortable admitting. At times he was inches, seconds from going home and pleading forgiveness, but some nasty memory from that last day at the Burrow always stopped him. Sometimes it was his father's anger, the like of which he'd never seen. Sometimes it was his mother's disappointment. Often it was the insufferable look on the twins' faces that they'd been proven right about him.

Whatever the reasons, he stayed at his job and tried not to show his growing discomfort with the way things were run at the Ministry. And here he sat, stuck in a place where voicing disagreement with Ministry policy was tantamount to marching to Azkaban and locking yourself in.

"Level One: Minister for Magic and Support Staff." Percy stepped out of the lift, ducking as a small cloud of memos zipped in and the golden grilles clanged shut. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps. Before he made it to Umbridge's door, Albert Runcorn stopped him.

"Umbridge is busy, Weasley. Wait outside."

"Thank you, Runcorn," Percy said, entirely dwarfed by the man. Runcorn nodded and lumbered away, and Percy continued in the opposite direction.

He hadn't waited long outside Umbridge's door before someone came up behind him.

"Excuse me, I have an appointment," said the lady.

"Madam Umbridge isn't seeing anyone," Percy said, turning around, "but she should be - Penny!" For it was Penelope, looking perfect as always, her photographer trailing after her.

When she recognized Percy, her jaw clenched, and she looked pointedly at her fingernails.

"Penny," he said again, but she didn't even respond.

After a few more attempts to get her attention, he was fed up. "Dash it all, Penny, listen to me!" He took her by the shoulders and whispered urgently in her ear, "You were right, okay? I was...I was wrong." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

She pulled away and he noticed uncomfortably that her eyes were bright with tears. To his utter shock, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Oh Perce," she sobbed into his shoulder, "I never thought I'd hear you say that!"

At that moment, Umbridge opened her office door.

"Miss Clearwater," she said, raising her eyebrows at the usually reserved reporter crying in the arms of the Junior Undersecretary, "I'll see you now. Unless you're...preoccupied."

"No, not at all," Penelope said quickly, drying her eyes and straightening her skirt. "The Leaky Cauldron," she added in an undertone to Percy, "eight-thirty." He nodded.

As Umbridge closed the door behind Penelope and her utterly bemused photographer, she said, "Weasley, you'll have to come back later."

"Certainly," Percy said absently.


	4. Neville Takes Some Initiative

Neville opened the door to the Room of Requirement to find he wasn't the first person there. Hannah sat in the farthest corner, her back to the door. Just about to say hello, he saw her shoulders shaking. Oh no, he thought. He hated walking in on things like this. It was so awkward, but he had no guarantee there would be time to get back to the common room before someone came along. Carefully, uncomfortably, he shut the door behind him.

Hannah jumped at the sound of the door closing, rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, and turned around with the falsest smile Neville had ever seen.

"You alright?" he asked, slowly crossing the room.

"Of course," she said, but her voice cracked.

"They give you trouble?" He didn't need to specify who they were.

Her face crumpled, and she cried again. "My mum...oh, they know about my mum..." She stopped for a moment, overcome by an enormous sob, then forced out the end of her sentence. "It was him that did it!" She buried her face in her hands and sank back into her seat.

A hot rage burned in Neville's stomach. So Amycus Carrow was the Death Eater who murdered Hannah's mother a year ago. It wasn't hard to imagine Amycus jeering at her, letting her in on the secret just to see her in pain. Yet another reason to hate the Carrows with everything.

He sat down next to Hannah, and for a few minutes the only sound was her heartbroken sobs. Suddenly, he wanted to put his arm around her shoulders. The desire startled him; it was a foreign feeling, and even if he had felt it he had definitely never followed through with it. He twisted his hands in his lap as he debated whether he should. It seemed like the right thing to do, and most people in his situation probably would. On the other hand, he certainly wasn't most people. What if she didn't like it? What if she thought he was trying to come on to her? He was hardly any girl's dream guy. Maybe it would make her feel better.

Finally, though it took more courage than anything he'd ever done, he willed his arm to obey him and carefully put it around her.

Immediately, she moved closer and laid her head on his shoulder, smiling a little through her tears.

Well. That worked.

"I missed you in Herbology last year," he said quietly. "It wasn't the same without you."

Hannah didn't say anything, but she smiled wider and snuggled closer to him. Neville wondered if she could feel his heartbeat pounding hard enough to shake the entire room.

Unbeknownst to Neville and Hannah, Seamus walked through the door, a spring in his step that didn't match his bruised face. Seeing the scene before him he stopped short, then turned on his heel and bolted from the room before they noticed him.

"Oh, no you don't," he said, leaning against the door as Colin tried to open it.

"What are you doing?" asked the younger boy.

"I have been waiting for this for seven years and you are not going to interrupt it!" he said, unable to keep the exuberation out of his voice. "Ha-ha! Yes!" He pumped his fist in the air.

"What? Seamus, what?" Colin demanded as Seamus took him by the shoulders and steered him back toward Gryffindor Tower.

"Our very own Neville Longbottom has a girl on his shoulder. Neville. Longbottom. And a girl. After seven bloody years! Ohhhh, I wish Dean was here to see this. He. Would. Die!" He and Colin high-fived and celebrated all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.


End file.
